Nothing but a Glaring Dream
by Random Snarfle
Summary: It all started with a kiss, as most things do in a love story. However, such stories were nonsense. They never meant anything. This. This meant something.
1. Prologue

Prologue

**Prologue**

This was wrong.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that to be true. This was wrong.

Then why did it feel so right?

--

It all started with a kiss, as most things do in a love story. Is that what this was? Perhaps. It was a story involving love, after all. However, such stories were nonsense. They never meant anything.

This. This meant something.

Anyway, maybe it doesn't matter how it started, but rather, how it ended. That's right, it's over already. That's why I'm writing this.

So I'll never forget.

So he'll never forget.

Never… forget.


	2. Chapter 1

Prologue

**Chapter One**

It was dark and windy. That's about all that I remember now, but that's how it was. It sounds awfully un-poetic, to describe something in such a droll manner. I have no choice. That's how it was. That's how I'll always remember it.

Dark. And windy. And maybe a little lonely.

As it was windy, there were many things blowing about in the air. Nothing too interesting other than the passing leaf, really. And so, naturally, I chose to ignore it. The only downside to the wind was how it blew the smoke from my cigarette directly into my face, forcing me to crane my neck in a new direction each and every time I blew smoke.

Annoying.

As I look down, preparing to release another nicotine cloud, I stop. A piece of paper had fallen onto my shoes. I was tempted to kick it aside, until I noticed writing on it. At this point, curiosity got the better of me, and so I reached down and lifted the paper to my eyes. I had been out walking all day, thus had left my reading glasses at home. The dull light from the nearby street lamp sure didn't help the situation.

These were god-awful lyrics. God-awful. Whoever wrote them must not have been using their brain, or what little of it they had in their possession. I don't mean to come off sounding cocky, but my opinion carries a lot of weight in this world. At this point in our little story, I had just won the Naoki Award for Literature. What does that mean?

A little sticker on the covers of one of my novels. Nothing too flashy.

"Wait!"

My eyes trailed upward as my thoughts were interrupted. Although I was glad to see something other than these dreadful words splashed drunkenly onto paper, what gaze met my eyes was certainly not much better.

A kid. A punk kid, at that, with dyed pink hair and dirty, old clothes. Putting two and two together, it was pretty obvious who the true writer of these lyrics was, "Did you write this?" Naturally, I asked anyway. It's human nature to ask questions you already know the answer to. It makes conversations very quick and simple.

The kid didn't respond right away. He looked surprised. Did I surprise him? It wouldn't surprise _me_ if I did. It was fairly late, after all, and it wasn't every day you saw a man such as myself walking around a park. Especially late at night.

I wasn't planning on sticking around for this kid to answer. I was more interested in getting home. Deciding to make his execution quick, I started towards him, making sure to veer off to the right, "You have absolutely zero talent. You should quit writing and learn a reliable trade."

Harsh. Some things just need to be said.

I kept my pace walking home. I didn't even bother to look back at the kid. Why bother? He was just one of those people you meet and forget.

_The whisper that dissolves into the bustling crowd…_

It happens all the time in life.

_Makes the memories scattered underfoot blur together…_

Goddamnit. Those lines were horrible. And yet there they were, floating around in my head as I walked down the sidewalk on the way home.

_The blazing of the street where I walk about lost…_

For a moment, I wished that I had just driven around tonight. At least then I could have listened to the radio.

_Glaring one way…_

Not that anything the media spews out nowadays is worth listening to.

_Illuminates me as coldly as though it freezes…_

Good lord, anything is better than this. "As coldly as though it freezes"? Honestly, what kind of line is that!?

I never realized how stuck I was then. The whole walk home, everything I looked at reminded me of that song. That goddamn song. That goddamn pitiful excuse of a love song.

_The words that I have to give to you are…_

Maybe I could sleep it off. Hopefully, come morning, it will be gone. I pray to God when I wake up, those crummy lyrics will be forever removed from my mind.

_It talks to myself…_

And then I woke up.

_Falling into an everyday routine, even without shadows…_


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

_The cold times make dreams fall like rain and slip through my hands…_

_When I woke up from the countless wishes…_

_You are reflected in a shimmering illusion…_

Damnit!

_The silhouette whose faint smile leads me along…_

They were still there, trapped in my mind and set to permanent repeat. Was there a melody? Could lyrics _that_ atrocious even _support_ a melody? Would I even want to hear it!?

No. I wouldn't.

There would be no reason for that.

Wearily, I drew myself from my bed and headed for the shower. Although I had slept for a fair amount of time, my mind was still heavy as it craved for the silence of sleep. Silence. Where no words could torment me.

Alas, I knew it wasn't meant to be. Not even a minute had passed after I got out of the shower that the doorbell rang. It didn't take a genius to figure out who it was. Letting out a small sigh of irritation, I begrudgingly opened the front door.

"Yuki-san." On the doorstep stood Kanna Mizuki, my editor. There wasn't much to say about her, other than she was generic. She bowed, at the waist 90 degrees, in front of me. If I hadn't been so used to it by now, those over-done formalities would get annoying very quickly.

"I've come for your manuscript. You're 8 days past deadline." A smile was plastered over her face, but I could easily see through it. She wasn't going to leave without that manuscript.

So I closed the door in her face.

"Yuki-san…" That same, ever patient and admonishing voice continued to speak to me through the door. She wasn't going to leave, not even after that. It'd take more than a door slammed in the face to get rid of Mizuki.

So I locked it for good measure.

Whether she decided to leave or not, I didn't plan on sticking around to witness. This was no way to start a morning, especially after such a restless night. Heading towards the kitchen, I made my way towards the coffee maker… until the phone started to ring.

Damnit it all to hell, how hard is it to find a little peace and quiet these days!? The weariness from last night started to sink in as I marched towards the phone and lifted the receiver to my ear, "What?"

"Is that your idea of answering the phone!?" It was worse than I had feared. "Honestly, Eiri, why not try saying hello like a normal human being?"

Mika. My older sister and proof that demons still walk the earth. "…hello." At this point in our story, I am in no mood to argue. I'm not even sure why I'm still holding the receiver. I should have slammed it down the minute I heard that familiar piercing tone.

There's a frustrated sigh from the other end of the phone. Here it comes. "Eiri, why haven't you come home? I sent you a letter over two weeks ago, and you haven't been returning my calls!"

Not this again. The same thing, over and over. Come home, Eiri. You're needed at home, Eiri. Father misses you, Eiri.

Bullshit, Eiri.

"I have no reason to come home. I have things to do here." There's no reason to go into anything. I already know it's futile.

Another sigh. Now it's time for operation: guilt-trip. "You really need to come home, Eiri! What kind of example are you setting for Tatsuha!? Every night I call and you're not home! And no, that does _not_ count as research for your romance novels! When are you going to realize that you have responsibilities as an adult!? Do you even realize what you are doing to this family and that poor girl—"

The phone conveniently slips through my hands and hangs itself up. That's one way to quiet her. The phone rings again and I turn off the ringer. And by the time I actually got my coffee, I was so agitated that I ended up drinking a little more than usual.

_Even if the gentleness that tells about only what makes anxiety flow…_

About 5 cups more. Knowing that I'd now be awake until tomorrow night, I begrudgingly headed towards my office and sat down in front of my laptop.

_Having fulfilled eternity…_

And so I begin my bi-monthly ritual of coerced last-minute inspiration. At least Mizuki will be happy.

…_I still don't want tomorrow._


End file.
